Our son, Timmy Thrasher, was
born with cystic fibrosis. At age 11, he went to the hospital,
never to come home again. My wife and I spent five of the longest
days of our lives there at the hospital, watching our son die.

Timmy . . . boy, he was
neat. If I could die half as gallant as he died, I think I'd have
to consider myself a pretty courageous person.

After a couple of days
in the hospital, he became so weak that we had to turn up his
oxygen as high as it could go. With cystic fibrosis, the lungs
fill up with mucus, and one drowns in it - very slowly.

On the third day, the
Lord came, and oh, what a relief. Out of the blue, Timmy said to
me, "Dad, Jesus is here."

"Dad - Jesus is
here!"

And I responded,
"I know, son," just trying to be agreeable and making
things easier for him, thinking he was talking incoherently.

He said, "No, really
Dad - He's here!"

I sort of raised my
eyebrows and replied, "Ohhhh?"

"Honest, Dad, He's
really here!"

"I believe you,
son, I really do," still trying not to say the wrong thing.
At that point he reached over and patted the bed where my arm
was, and said, "He's sitting right here, Daddy."

I moved my arm and
asked, "Well, am I in His way?"

He smiled with a smile
of assurance and said, "Oh no - no, you're not in His way,
Daddy. He came to lead me through the valley. There's no fear
anymore, Daddy. I don't have to be afraid." And then he
began to quote Psalms 23 for some strange reason.

What happened next is
beyond description or comprehension. For the next 16 hours solid,
he began to praise God. Now one must understand -- here's a
little boy on oxygen turned all the way up to eight liters. Six
liters is as high as one can take it, the doctors said, but Timmy
was taking eight liters. We had tried to sneak it down to six
when he would relax and doze, because over six liters it burns
out the nostrils. But here he was, praising the Lord, and over
and over he would say, "Jeeeesssssusss . . . I lovvvve
youuuuu. Jesussss, I loveeee youuuuuu," over and over,
giving Him simple praise from the heart.

Toward the last day, he
was in and out of consciousness frequently. When he would awake,
the shortness of breath made it unbearable for him, as well as
for us, to watch him suffer so much. It got to where every time
he would awaken, we'd tell him to go back and be with Jesus, and
he'd say, "Oh yes, I've got to go find Jesus again. I want
to be with Jesus." By this time he was fighting for air with
everything he had, as sweat rolled off him.

About 2 A.M. on that
last day - when for all practical purposes he was dead - suddenly
he came up out of the bed and flung his arms around me and said
with a very firm voice, "Daddy . . . I've seen Him. I
know how big He is . . . and oh do I love Himmmmmmmm!"

He never said another
word to me after that.

A couple of hours
later, he came up out of the bed again when it was my wife's turn
to watch him, and he hugged her. He didn't say anything to her;
he just hugged her for about half an hour.

Close to 10 P.M. that
night I began to pray. While I was praying, my mind began to have
flashbacks to the times when Timmy and I would be talking, when
he would ask me how I would behave after he died. I told him I
would probably get pretty angry -- pretty angry with God, but I'd
forgive Him. Timmy would kind of laugh, knowing the kind of Daddy
he had.

"Timmy - I'll make
you a promise"

I walked over to Timmy
after I finished praying and brushed his hair. Then I wiped his
forehead dry, and said to him, "Timmy - I'll make you a
promise. I will not get angry with God. I love Jesus . . . and
Timmy, I will not allow your death to make me angry or
bitter toward God."

A few moments later I
walked out of the room and walked over to a window and started
praying again. I was looking at a church in the distance. The sun
was setting and it was so beautiful. My eyes were fixed on the cross on top of that church, and I began to say, "Lord, I
love you . . . and I rededicate myself to you. I'm tired of
fighting, Lord. I just want to be your servant."

My wife came out of the
room shortly after that and I knew she was near the point of
exhaustion. So was I. At that moment, I looked up and said,
"God . . . I can't take anymore. I have completely . . .
exhausted . . . myself.

My wife yelled a moment
later. I knew what was happening, and I ran back into the room,
just in time to see Timmy catch his last breath. It was over.

The next few months I
began to walk slow and steady with the Lord. I became a changed
person. Slowly I began to see that all of the problems in my
earlier Christian walk were all brought on by myself.

One problem was that I
had kept my eyes on people, and not God. The other problem,
undoubtedly worse of all, was that I made myself God,
because of my critical, judgmental nature. Because I had not
dealt with problems of rejection early in my Christian walk,
bitterness and anger was able to rise up in me. In my ignorance
(and pride), I grew bitter and angry at Christians, and was
nothing more than a pawn of the devil to sow discord in the Body
of Christ

I hope that by sharing
this story it will help some people from going through much of
the needless pain and suffering that I put my family, others, and
myself through. It's not the weaknesses of other Christians that
matter; not their faults. There's only one thing that matters.
I've got to keep my eyes fixed firmly on Jesus Christ, and I'll
walk content with my brothers and sisters in Christ until my time
is up. Keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus and His goodness is all
that counts. Timmy taught me that. His last hours on this
earth were a lesson never to be forgotten, as he found his peace
and comfort in Jesus - not man. Someday, we'll be
together again, in heaven.

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are you at peace with God? If not, you
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to be certain. Either Jesus Christ died for your sins, or He didn't (He
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get in right-standing with God? We plead with you ... please don't make
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